


The Bard and The White Wolf

by DarkSecrets666



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Romance, Gay Sex, Language, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Monsters, Noonwraith, Quests, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension, Side Quests, Song: Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (The Witcher), Songs, Sorry Not Sorry, Tenderness, Werewolf, White Wolf - Freeform, bath scene, made up songs, village
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSecrets666/pseuds/DarkSecrets666
Summary: WITCHER WANTEDGirls missing near old wellAsk for Jon in Merrimill Tavern2 miles north east“Hmm,” Geralt tore the advertisement from the pole and stuffed it in his bag. “C’mon Roach.”Geralt seeks out advertisements for monsters with Jaskier at his side to sing of his victories and keep him company, day or night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 70





	1. Noonwraith

**Author's Note:**

> The song is inspired by Nightingale's Eyes, Dragon Age Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is inspired by Nightingale's Eyes, Dragon Age Inquisition

Jaskier awkwardly rolled off his sleeping mat with a groan, his mousey brown hair sticking out in odd angles while he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Amber eyes watched the bard from the warm glow of the flickering fire as Jaskier staggered past the witcher, making his way to a spot just beyond the firelight where the half asleep bard pulled out his cock and pissed against a tree. He yawned loudly and tucked himself back in, humming a tune that made the witcher release a growl of irritation from beside the fire and glare.

“ _Toss a coin to your witcher_...” the bard sung quietly as he stumbled his way back and sat himself down next to said mutant. “Geralt, if looks could kill...”

“Hmm,” amber eyes narrowed, “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s cold,” Jaskier stretched his cold fingers out towards the flames, keeping them at a safe distance. Geralt huffed in annoyance and pulled his travelling worn cloak over the bard who smiled gratefully, snuggling into the warmth of the furs around the collar. “What are you watching for?”

“How do you know I’m watching for anything?”

The bard yawned, “Because you’re stiff as a board and you haven’t let the fire die down.”

Geralt felt his lips twitch as he fought the urge to smile slightly at the bard’s observations. “Nekkers,” he finally replied after a few moments, returning his gaze to the dark trees. “I saw one returning to a cave. About a mile or so back. It’s not likely to come this far. Not without a reason,” his fingers twitched towards his silver sword as he spotted movement but it was just a stag. “But not out of the question.”

Jaskier looked out into the darkness too but his grey eyes were no match against the mutant’s so he returned to his sleeping mat and curled up in Geralt’s cloak. From where he lay, he watched Geralt for a while, noting how the witcher’s prominent jaw tightened slightly when he sensed movement and how his feet shifted beside the log he sat on, parting slightly as he set himself to be able to spring at any moment. The bard knew they had only stopped for his benefit, that Geralt could have kept travelling as long as Roach could and longer. He knew he should feel guilty but he just felt a warm swell of gratitude and decided to compose a song to earn their way into a room in the next tavern they came across.

“You could sleep too,” the bard murmured.

Geralt didn’t respond.

The bard averted his eyes as the silver sword caught the light of the afternoon sun, slashing through the diseased flesh of a ghoul they had stumbled across. It and four others had been feasting on corpses left on the side of the rode, most likely victims of bandits. As the last one fell, Geralt straightened up and cast a glance at his companion. As usual, Jaskier had ended up flat on his backside, trying to keep out of the way of both the witcher and the ghouls. The mutant held out his hand and helped the bard to his feet, steadying the younger man with a firm hand hooking round the brunette's waist before Jaskier could stumble over again.

For a moment, they remained pressed together. Geralt’s breathing was even and controlled where Jaskier’s hitched, a flush darkening his cheeks. The witcher’s senses could pick up things that a normal human couldn’t, felt how the bard’s heart raced, hear his uneven breathing and smell the arousal.

“Hmm,” Geralt released the bard, stepping away to find where Roach had scampered off to, “We should find a tavern. We’re out of water. Roach won’t last another day.”

“Yeah… yeah, alright,” the bard agreed, dusting himself off then picked up his lute before following the witcher.

The mare hadn’t gone far and was waiting for them both a good twenty yards from the fight, wisely avoiding the flesh-eaters. Roach snorted trotted over to Geralt who took her reins and led her back to the road, continuing on until they came to a cross roads where a signpost gave them directions and more.

WITCHER WANTED

_Girls missing near old well_

_Ask for Jon in Merrimill Tavern_

_2 miles north east_

“Hmm,” Geralt tore the advertisement from the pole and stuffed it in his bag. “C’mon Roach.”

They set off north east, Jaskier humming cheerfully as he kept in step with the witcher, singing short lines every now and then before returning to humming. “ _Her long blonde hair, her firm breasts bare…_ mmmhmm mm… mmhm _… and she dances, she dances, under the moon…_ ”

“Is that a new composition?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier chuckled and shook his head. “An old one. Not as popular, I’m afraid.”

“All your famous ones are of me,” it wasn’t a question.

“You’re a lot more interesting than One Maiden Fair,” Jaskier mused, “You’re a dashing hero who champions for the helpless. That appeals to the romance of women and the warrior’s nobility in men.”

“Hmm.”

“I could make a new one, if you like?” Jaskier offered. “About you or women or you AND women? The Modesty of Whores is a fine title. What will it be?”

“I don’t care.”

Jaskier was silent for a moment as he considered. He adjusted his lute and strung a few cords.

“ _Glowing witcher eyes_

_What secrets lie_

_in their truth?_

_Golden tears they cry_

_Monster lies_

_Slay or be slain,_

_The choice is up to you._

_Amber witcher eyes_

_what secrets hides_

_in their truth?_

_Hear their battle cry_

_Demons lie_

_live or die_

_The choice is up to you._

_They’re fighting for a living,_

_Longing to be_

_They’re fighting to keep surviving_

_Longing to see_

_They’re fighting for a living_

_Longing to be_

_They’re fighting to keep surviving_

_To set us all free..._ ”

Geralt’s pace slowed to a stop and Jaskier took a few more steps forward before he stopped too and turned back, puzzled. “What’s wrong? Is it that bad?” the bard asked, frowning.

“No,” the witcher’s voice sounded odd, strained. “It… hmm. It’s one of your better ones.”

A bright grin lit up the bard’s face, he even had the modesty to blush at the praise. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and gestured to the road ahead. “We should… keep going,” he said, taking steps along the road and the witcher followed without another word. The bard continued playing a pretty tune on his lute, humming along with the melody.

The village of Marrimill came into view finally, the tavern was on the immediate right. A small boy ran past the bard and bumped right into the witcher. He tripped back and his cap came off, revealing bountiful locks of red hair that fell to her shoulders. Geralt shared a look with Jaskier before he helped up the little girl disguised as a boy. She picked up her cap and pulled her hair back, tucking it all into the cap as she forced it on over both hair and head.

“Yer a witcher,” she said.

“You’re a girl,” the witcher retorted.

She gave a toothy grin. “Girls are goin’ missin’. Pa dressed me up like him so I’d be safe.”

“Smart man.”

She grinned again and skipped off after some of the other children. The travellers approached the tavern and guided Roach to the stable, removing their bags. Geralt gave a few coins to the stable boy to feed, water and keep and eye on the mare before he and Jaskier went inside.

Geralt headed for the barman and asked him to fill their waterskins. “Anythin’ else, master witcher?”

“I’m looking for Jon?”

“Aye, that be him at the back, over there,” the barman pointed to wrecked man, drinking in the coner.

“Thanks,” Geralt turned back to the barman. “Do you have a room for the night?”

“Two rooms. Five orens each,” the barman said, turning to find the keys.

“We’ll only need the one.”

Key in hand, waterskins full and his purse lighter, Geralt approached Jon in the corner of the tavern and sat with him. He pulled out the poster calling for a witcher and flattened it out in front of the drunk. Jon glanced at it and raised his tankard in toast to the witcher. “S’bout time,” Jon mumbled, “but don’t mean I ain’t grateful ya came.”

“What’s this about?” Geralt asked.

“Me daughter. Molly. She an’some other girls gone missin’,” Jon sniffed, “I ain’t no fool, witcher. I know me girl’s dead. First we thought they’d fallen in. Molly was small for her age. Then we thought some bastard be taking ‘em but there ain’t no tracks. Gotta be a monster or a ghost. Then, three days ago, lil Jane sees a spectre. A woman all see-through, like. Started dressin’ our girls up like boys, keep ‘em safe. Shouldn’t ‘ave ter live like that. Now yer here. We saved 200 orens for yer, master witcher. Get rid of that spectre. Keep our girls safe.”

“Alright,” Geralt stood up, “I have to investigate the area. Where is the well?”

“Just outside the village,” Jon replied, “back behind the old church, near the trees. Can’t miss it.”

Geralt made his way to Jaskier who was waiting by the bar with an ale. “Here’s the key. The room is upstairs. Wait for me there.”

“But...”

The witcher ignored the bard and left.

It was beginning to rain outside but that didn’t stop the children from playing in the mud. Geralt turned and made his way towards the church. The building was hardly bigger than any of the houses and the titles on the roof needed patching up. The walls were covered in vines, the brick cracked where nature decided to reclaim the unattended areas. Walking through the cemetery, the crumbling well came into view just beyond the trees. Geralt headed straight for it until he caught the sight of a transparent woman with a veil.

She lingered near the well but didn’t attack at this distance.

“Noonwraith,” Geralt muttered, carefully approaching as the wraith disappeared. His eyes immediately spotted the remains of old blood on the side of the well, a bone fragment sticking to the stone. “Hmm… skull fragment.” His eyes scanned over the earth and found an axe half buried in the mud. “Common make. Bandits most likely.” He sniffed for the scent of decay and found the shallow grave easily. He dug her up and examined the bones. “Skull caved in. Killed her. Neck broken. Likely happened when they smashed her head into the well. Arm dislocated. He held her down. Fingers broken. He took her rings. Pelvis crushed. Hmm.” He got up, found a suitable tree to shelter from the rain and waited for nightfall to take care of the Noonwraith as he mused himself upon a similar encounter.

Jaskier, meanwhile, was pacing up and down the room for the night. He could hear the man next door, screwing the miller’s wife. She certainly had a set of lungs on her and reminded him of several other ladies who could hit the notes the willer’s wife was currently pitching. The bard grabbed his lute and strummed a few cords as he sat himself on the edge of the bed. It was old and worn but it had clean sheets and was big enough for two. Jaskier flushed at the idea of sharing a bed with Geralt.

He kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed.

It had been many years since he’d been with a man. His first had been his mentor and then his muse when Jaskier surpassed him in both skill and beauty. Their relationship had turned rancid under his mentor’s jealousy and they had parted ways on bad terms. The sex had been amazing though and few women had ever compared but they had been fleeting, one night stands or married. It seemed his tastes lay with anyone who was unattainable.

He pulled the furs over himself and fell asleep.

Geralt rolled away from the wraith and trapped it with Yrden before slashing the screeching spectre again and again until she dispersed. He set alight her bones before making his way back to the tavern. Jon was still sat in the corner, drinking. He glanced up when he saw the mutant and raised his tankard in greeting.

“You done it, master witcher?” Jon asked.

“The spectre is gone,” Geralt replied, “You can claim your dead in peace.”

“You’ve done us a greater service than yer could know,” Jon sniffed, “200 orens as promised. And this. It woulda been given to my son if I had one. Take it.”

He gave the witcher a finely crafted dagger that was at least a century old.

“Hmm. Still sharp.”

The mutant gave Jon small bow of his head before making his way to the barman. “Hot water?”

“For a bath? Ten orens,” the barman replied and Geralt gave him the gold before making his way up to the room.

Half an hour later found Geralt sat in the tub. Jaskier fussed over a wound on the witcher’s shoulder, making sure to clean it properly. “You could get it infected. You’re lucky Shani taught me a thing or two. You’d be riddled with infection by now,” he scolded as he began to rub lotion into the witcher’s torso. “And hurry up. I need a bath too.”

“Then get in.”

Jaskier froze for a moment. “Alright,” he stood up and began to remove his waistcoat, “Close your eyes,” he ordered as he unlaced his shirt, highly aware of those feline eyes watching him. Geralt snorted but closed his eyes and, a few minutes later, felt Jaskier join the bath from behind with his back to him. “It’s warm,” the bard muttered, pleased, and began washing himself.

With what little space they had, Geralt managed get up only to turn himself around and sat back down to face Jaskier. He took the same soothing lotion the bard always uses and began to rub it into the brunette's shoulders. Beneath his fingers, he felt Jaskier’s pulse quicken and heard his breathing hitch. Geralt gently massaged the bard’s neck with the circular motion of his thumbs. The singer began to relax, his eyes closing as sighed contently and leaned into the touch. Those skilled hands wandered down lower, coaxing a quiet moan from the bard.

“You’re musical,” Geralt murmured.

“Sorry,” Jaskier felt his cheeks burn.

“It’s just an observation,” the witchered assured him. He took more lotion and slipped his arms around the brunette to lather his torso. Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s firm chest, shuddering as fingers grazed over his nipples. The mutant ran his fingers over the bard’s bare chest again and Jaskier bit his lower lip, a delicate whimper escaping his throat. “You don’t have to sing and you make melodies.”

“Geralt,” the bard groaned quietly then arched as a hand wrapped around his cock. To his utter humiliation, only a few tugs on his erection had Jaskier cumming so hard he cried out. “ **Geralt!** Geralt... Shit… sorry.”

The witcher only chuckled and held the bard until he stopped trembling. “Are you ready to get out?”

Jaskier nodded and got up on shaky legs, giving Geralt the full view of his perky backside. The witcher got up and helped steady the bard, an arm around his waist, his body against the brunette’s. Jaskier rose his eyes up to meet Geralt’s and their mouths latched together. The bards fingers knotted with white hair and the witcher’s fingers pressed into the bard’s narrow hips. They stumbled back and Geralt pulled the brunette on top of him as they fell onto the bed. Jaskier sat up, straddling the witcher’s hips and rolled his crotch into Geralt’s.

“You’ve been thinking about doing this for a while,” the mutant groaned, “Why didn’t you act?”

“Let’s talk about that after, shall we?” the bard moaned.

As if in agreement, Geralt rolled them both so he was on top and kissed Jaskier hungrily as his wet fingers slid between tanned thighs and to the brunette’s entrance. The bard gasped as a finger was slowly pushed inside, a gasp that Geralt took advantage of by shoving his tongue into the bard’s mouth. Jaskier went weak, suddenly very glad he was lying down because he would have collapsed by now. His hips shifted and he groaned into Geralt’s mouth as the finger went in deeper.

The witcher detached their mouths and kissed along the bard’s jawline to his neck, carefully easing in a second finger. “You do this to yourself,” it wasn’t a question but he felt Jaskier nod jerkily, “Thinking of me?” another nod. “I’m going to do something you can’t. Not by yourself.” Jaskier whimpered his approval, his cock already leaking. “Are you ready?” the bard nodded once more.

Geralt withdrew his fingers and sat up before he began to press his impressive cock into the bard, inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside his lover. He sat there for a moment, taking in the wreck that was Jaskier; flushed cheeks, wet hair sticking in all angles and eyes meeting Geralt’s without reservation. The witcher leaned over the bard, one hand slipping into Jaskier’s as the other helped keep his balance while he began to thrust into the brunette hard but slow, angling himself to locate the singer’s prostate.

It was immediately obvious when he had; the soft cry of his name and the arch of the bard’s back was enough to give it away. Geralt began to move faster, groaning the grip on each other’s hand grew firmer and Jaskier’s free hand dug its nails into the witcher’s back. Slamming in harder, Geralt rammed himself into the bard’s prostate with every thrust, abusing the spot as the brunette whined and screamed. Even this, Jaskier had somehow made into a song; their song.

“Ger- Geralt!” the bard sung, throwing his head back into the pillows as his orgasm approached. The witcher hammered himself in forcefully and Jaskier came hard, tears of ecstasy streaming down the sides of his face. The mutant groaned as his lover tightened around him and released his seed inside the bard. In the midst of his climax, Geralt claimed the bard’s mouth who eagerly responded. Their hands loosened but remained together as they kissed over and over.

It took a while to calm themselves but, eventually, they parted and lay side by side. Geralt’s fingers relocated Jaskier’s and they intertwined. The bard grinned, more than happy with the arrangement. He glanced at his lover who rolled his eyes at him.

“Go to sleep.”

“Aren’t we going to cuddle?”

“Roll over and go to sleep,” Geralt replied, releasing the brunette’s hand. Jaskier’s face fell and he turned his back to the witcher. A moment passed and he felt Geralt move closer, wrap his arm around him and press a kiss to his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Sleep.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and was soon asleep.


	2. Werewolf

Waking up wrapped in furs and warm arms did everything for Jaskier’s mood. As soon as he moved, he felt Geralt’s hold on him tighten and heard the witcher breathe in his scent. The bard couldn’t help but smile, finding himself just as unwilling to leave the bed as Geralt seemed to be. A kiss was pressed to the back of Jaskier’s neck, then his shoulder.

“You smell like rain on grass and dandelions,” the witcher murmured, nuzzling his nose into the bard’s neck. “Underneath all that lotion...” his hand slowly began to move down the bard’s stomach as he pressed himself against the brunette’s plump backside, “Honey and Jasmine?” Jaskier nodded, his pulse quickening under the witcher’s lowering fingers and the hard cock against his rear. “It’s new.” Geralt paused and enjoyed the new scent of arousal adding to the mixture. His hand rested on Jaskier’s hip and pressed more kisses to the bard’s neck and shoulder.

“You’re teasing me,” Jaskier accused, sounding slightly breathless, “That’s not fair. I’ll… oh!” the bard gasped as the witcher’s hand finally gripped the brunette’s cock. “Geralt...” He could only moan as his lover stroked his erection, his hips thrusting into the mutant’s hand eagerly. “Please...”

Geralt withdrew and sat up, pulling Jaskier with him, chest to back. The bard lowered himself onto the witcher’s cock with a groan, leaning into the mutant who held him tightly. Jaskier groaned as he began to move, rising and falling as Geralt thrust up into him. In no time at all, their movements sped up and became frantic. Jaskier could feel the witcher’s fingers bruising his skin just as much as he could feel his lover ram into his prostate. He shoved himself down harder as Geralt pounded into him roughly and Jaskier’s ecstatic cries became louder.

Someone banged on the wall in the next room for the two to be quiet. Geralt’s hand covered Jaskier’s mouth but didn’t halt his movements and the bard had no desire to stop either. He whimpered against the witcher’s hand, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he came. Behind him, Geralt groaned and, still thrusting, climaxed inside his lover. They road out their orgasm with spasmodic movements until Geralt’s hold on the bard loosened and they remained sat like that for a few minutes, bathing in the afterglow of an exceptional orgasm that left both parties completely satisfied.

Geralt ran his fingers over the soft skin of Jaskier’s thigh and scattered kisses on the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier sighed happily, exposing his neck for his lover and let out a delighted hum as Geralt’s lips pressed against the curve where his neck met his shoulder. The bard reached around, lacing his fingers in the witcher’s snowy hair as he awkwardly half twisted around to kiss his lover’s mouth. After a few moments, it was too uncomfortable to maintain so they parted and slumped back onto the bed. Once the feeling returned to his legs, Jaskier got up with a wince and used the cold bathwater to rinse himself off before locating his clothes. Geralt watched from the bed, a crooked smile on his lips as the bard clumsily dressed himself.

“What?” Jaskier asked as he fumbled up the buckles on the side of his waist coat.

Geralt got up, “They’re wrong,” he said and started to tighten the buckles to their usual hole. The very naked witcher washed himself off with the washbasin in the corner and began to get dressed too. He was fluid in his movements, neither bashful nor clumsy.

Jaskier sighed; no wonder Geralt was an excellent lover.

Geralt saddled Roach and attached their bags to her saddle before guiding her out of the stables. Jaskier plucked a few notes on his lute as he waited then readjusted it to his back as he followed the witcher back to the road. They found their way back to the crossroads easily enough and continued north west. The companions were quiet for a while as they travelled, missing the warmth of the tavern bed and the privacy of a room. A few extra hours of sleep would have been nice too but neither of them would have been able to sleep lying naked next to each other.

“So,” Geralt broke the silence after about twenty minutes, “Why didn’t you initiate anything? I’ve never known you to be shy.”

“And find out it was all one-sided?” Jaskier snorted, “I think not. At least with someone I don’t know, I might never see them again and we can laugh about it later. If I did that to you and you hadn’t been… er… responsive, I’m not sure it could have been shrugged off. We’d end up being awkward or you could have been disgusted or… I could never be able to see you again...”

“Hmm,” Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s arm and pulled him into a fierce kiss. “You’re an idiot,” he said, letting the bard go and continued walking. Dazed, the brunette followed the witcher onwards in silence once again. Curiosity sated, the white haired mutant felt no more need to talk. After a few minutes, he heard the familiar twang of the bard’s lute as Jaskier began to play.

“ _White wolf,_

_I will follow_

_Sun or storm_

_Blind into caves or_

_The edge of the world._

_On this road we travel_

_It’s where you belong,_

_If we’re ever parted_

_Let it not be too long_...”

“Hmm,” Geralt glanced at the bard, “I appreciate the sentiment but I think it’s a little cheesy.” Jaskier hummed thoughtfully and was silent for a moment as he went over his lyrics before he decided he agreed. While the witcher might not be a poet, he was well travelled and had heard all Jaskier’s greatest ballads as well as many other masters of the arts. The bard kept plucking his cords in the hopes of some inspiration but there was only Geralt and trees and the threat of monsters. That didn’t leave much and Jaskier’s head was still on their incredible night, and morning, together.

“ _I want to spend my nights beside you,_

_Be it lovers,_

_Be it not._

_I want to spend my days beside you,_

_Be us lovers_

_Be us not._

_And if we can do that_

_Then I’ll be happy_

_If we can do that,_

_Then I’ll be happy_

_And if we can do that_

_Then I’ll be happy_

_If you can chance,_

_Can give all_

_To me._

_Let us chance_

_Give it all_

_To me._

_If you can chance,_

_Can give all_

_To me_

_Let us chance_

_Give it all_

_To me._

_And if we can do that_

_Then I’ll be happy_

_If we can do that,_

_Then I’ll be happy_

_And if we can do that_

_Then I’ll be happy..._ ”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and dragged him to a tree, pressed him against and kissed him ardently.

The sun had set several hours ago and Jaskier was dragging his feet, yawing as Geralt led them away from the road for a safe spot to set up camp. He tied Roach to a tree and got out the sleeping mats, handing them to the bard who rolled them out near each other. The witcher left the brunette to collect firewood nearby. He returned only a few minutes later to find that Jaskier was slumped against a tree, fast asleep with one boot off. Geralt shook his head and began to light a fire. Once it was blazing quite nicely, he got up to tend to the bard. The witcher gently shook Jaskier awake and helped him stand, wrapped him in his travelling cloak and led him to a sleeping mat.

“Sleep,” he murmured.

Jaskier grumbled something incoherent but soon began softly snoring again.

The bard woke with a groan come morning, emerging from under Geralt’s cloak to look around for the witcher himself. The mutant was roasting a couple of rabbits on the fire, only glancing at the bard before he chucked over a waterskin. The bard grunted as it hit him in the face, his reaction times non-existent first thing after waking, but drank from it nonetheless. He set it aside once he had quenched his thirst and went to go find a tree to piss privately.

When he returned, Geralt offered him some rabbit and wrapped up the other for later. Jaskier took it with a sleepy mumble of thanks and sat down, eating delicately. They ate in silence until Roach snorted uneasily and the witcher picked up the sound of human feet. It took another fifteen minutes for the bard to hear the sound too and they were soon happened upon by three men with pitchforks and kitchen knives. They approached cautiously and Geralt stood slowly, leaving his swords where they lay.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, “Can I help you?”

“Who’re ye, stranger?” asked one with balding hair, keeping near his companions.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Geralt replied, “I’m a witcher.”

“A witcher, aye? We heard o’ ye,” the same man replied, relaxing enough to lower his blade, “We might ‘ave work fer a witcher.”

“What kind of work?”

The men glanced at each other and the freckled blonde replied, “We got werewolf problems.”

“Hmm.”

The balding man stepped forward. “I’m Crast. The blonde’s Frederic and that’s Wayne. We’re needing someun who can kill monsters an’ the like. We ain’t got much but, kill the werewolf and we’ll give ye what we can.”

“Do you know who the wolf is?” They shook their heads. Geralt sighed, “I’ve only managed to cure a werewolf once. I’d rather try to cure them if I can. Take me to your village. We have plenty of time before the sun sets.”

“We don’t care how ye take care of the wolf, just long as it stops,” Crast said.

Jaskier rolled up the sleeping mats and attached them to Roach. The men led the bard and the white wolf to their village just an hour’s walk away. Geralt approached a washwoman and paid her to clean their spare clothing. Not that he cared but the bard had all the hygiene of a sorceress. While she washed their clothes, he asked her questions about the village and the people in it.

“Ain’t no one goes out in ter the trees no more, master witcher,” she said, “Except maybe Gareth. He don’t fear the wolf and neither does the hunter, ‘is brother, Garth. Two peas in a pod. Twins. We thought they were a bad omen but we’ve seen brighter days with those two around.”

“Thanks,” Geralt replied, “Where can I find them?”

“They got a hunting shack just north of the river.”

Jaskier paid the woman to keep hold of Roach before he followed Geralt. One of the brothers was in the shack, gutting a deer. The stench of guts made the bard queasy and he lingered by the door while the witcher, used to unpleasant smells, went right in. The brother looked up and put his hunting knife down before grabbing a cloth to wipe the blood off his hands.

“What can I do ye for?”

“There’s a werewolf terrorising the village,” Geralt said, “I want to try to cure it.”

“There’s a cure?” The hunter sounded too hopeful, too desperate to not be suspicious. He grimaced, knowing he had been obvious and hung his head, “Me brother, Gareth. He was turned ‘bout a year ago. Dunno ‘ow. Refuses ter talk ‘bout it,” he hesitated, “What’s the cure?”

“True love,” Geralt replied.

“Ah… witcher, me brother ain’t a social man,” Garth sighed, “No lass livin’ loves ‘im now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt replied, “He needs to prove he loves another. An act of true love.”

“What can I do?”

“Help!” Garth cried as he sprinted through the woods, the witcher hot on his heels. Garth was well built, accustom to running from wild dogs, wolves and bares, accustom to chasing deer for miles into the forest. This may have been an advantaged to a normal adversary but his stamina was no match for a witcher who was steadily gaining on him. “It’s not me! I swear!” he gasped between pants, trying to keep moving. Geralt ignored him and continued to advance.

Jaskier attempted to keep up, red in the face.

Without warning, a massive wolf with the torso of a man pounced from his hovel to defend his brother. “I am the wolf!” he snarled, pouncing on Jaskier and Geralt froze. “You will not harm my brother!”

The act was enough. To save his brother, Gareth exposed himself to certain death. With a howl of pain, he was transformed back into a man. Naked, the twin shivered with cold and looked down at his hands in wonder. Garth ran to his brother, covering him up with his jacket before hugging him tight.

Jaskier groaned softly and sat up, his arm bleeding.

“Were ye bit?” the hunter asked, horrified.

“What? No, it’s just a scratch,” the bard assured everyone.

The twins glanced at each other, unconvinced. “If ye were bit...” Gareth said, hesitating, “can ye witcher cure ye quick an’ easy? If not, ye better move on.”

“I’m fine!”

There was a pause before Geralt sheathed his sword and approached the bard. “If he’s infected, he won’t be a challenge.”

“But ye said an’ act of true love...”

“He won’t be a challenge,” the witcher repeated firmly. He tended to the bard’s wound carefully; it did seem to be a ragged claw mark and quickly began to clean it out and wrap it up with his small set of supplies, “You shouldn’t have followed us out here. This could have been a lot worse,” his words were calm but his amber eyes blazed as they bore into Jaskier’s.

“But you never share any of the gory details,” the bard complained weakly, feeling a blush in the intensity of the witcher’s gaze. “If you would just tell me- ow!”

“You’re being a baby,” Geralt accused, “Stay still.”

Once the bard’s arm was wrapped up, the four men returned to the village. They parted ways and Geralt found Crast who paid him 100 orens for his trouble. With his purse heavier and his supplies replenished, Geralt made his way out of the village beside Roach with Jaskier following behind.


	3. Behind Tavern Doors

Decapitating a few drowners for a small finishing town near Novigrad was a tedious and uneventful job but the fishermen had scraped together 150 orens which made it somewhat worth it and there was a small inn nearby to spend the night with a stable for Roach to relax, unburdened after a week on the road. The barkeeper offered his room for free in thanks for Geralt’s work but the witcher insisted on paying for their food and liquor. The bard was being unusually quiet, tired from travelling for so long and more than ready for a hot bath and a clean bed.

With the hot water heaved up and filling a tub, Jaskier rummaged through their bags for his oils as Geralt began to undress. The bard glanced around at the witcher with a slight smile and approached with the oils, setting them on the table next to the washbasin before he reached for the straps on the leather armour the mutant was struggling out of. Nimble fingers made quick work of Geralt’s light armour and gently tugged open the lace of the worn shirt as the witcher began to pull loose the bard’s waistcoat.

Their clothing fell away, discarded onto the floor without a word or so much as a sensual touch. Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and helped him into the tub. Once the bard was sat down, Geralt got in behind him and wrapped his arms around the minstrel’s skinny frame. Jaskier leaned into his lover’s arms, relaxing into the broad chest of the witcher and smiled as the white haired mutant nuzzled the his face into the bard’s messy brown hair. Closing his eyes, the bard trailed his fingers over scars on his lover’s leg. His head lolled back onto the witcher’s shoulder, sighing happily as kisses were pressed to his neck.

The hot water did wonders to ease their aches and pains, leaching the cold from their veins. After soaking long enough that their muscles were no longer ice, Jaskier began to wash himself down. Geralt watched the bard’s tanned skin become fractionally paler after removing all that dirt. Jaskier manoeuvred himself around to face the witcher and began to wash the mutant’s scarred torso, removing dirt and dried blood then washing his hair. Geralt gently took hold of the brunette’s wrist and leaned in to press their lips together for a tender but fleeting kiss. A flush darkened the bard’s cheek, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jaskier reached for the chamomile oil and began to sooth the oil into the witcher’s skin; his chest, his shoulders to the tips of his fingers and along his legs to his toes. Geralt turned over so his lover could get to his back, easing the oil into scars and the witcher’s toned buttocks. When the bard had finished, the mutant turned back around and pulled Jaskier to him and returned the favour; his chest, his shoulders to the tips of his fingers and along his legs to his toes. They rearranged so Jaskier was straddling his lover, his face in the witcher’s neck as Geralt’s strong fingers massaged the oil into the bard’s back.

“We should find a permanent residence,” Jaskier whispered. “Find a home.”

Geralt kissed the bard’s cheek, “Home is when I’m alone with you,” he murmured in his lover’s ear.

Clean and pampered, the lovers rose and emerged from the tub before drying off. The witcher reached for the bard’s hand and took the towel from him. He used the towel to pat dry the brunette’s messy hair, smiling as the bard reached for the mutant in turn and kissed him briefly. The bard playfully forced the witcher onto a stool and towel dried the masses of white hair and brushed it through.

“Quit squirming,” Jaskier said, amused.

“Hurts.”

“That’s because you never take care of it,” the bard replied and continued combing the witcher’s hair until it was sleek then tied half of it, “There. Not so bad, was it?”

Geralt grumbled a grumpy retort but kisses soon restored his mood for the better. Finally, the bard crawled into bed and gave a satisfied sigh of soft skin under clean sheets and warm furs. The witcher climbed in after him and hooked an arm around the bard who snuggled into the mutant’s chest. Jaskier yawned widely, closing his eyes; it didn’t take him very long to fall asleep. Lulled by the steady rhythm of the bard’s snores, Geralt soon drifted into the realms of dreams only minutes after his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but I wanted them to express how they feel without using sex or danger, just a good scene full of tenderness


End file.
